Unzipped? (11 page)

Much better to go to the gym early in the morning and work out her frustrations on a stair-climber or in the pool. Then she’d clear the air with Hal and put him through his paces. She planned to sweat the stupid male logic right out of him.

She also shouldn’t be sleeping with the guy. Not only was he a client, but also she was too screwed up to be sleeping with
anyone
right now. Wasn’t she?

S
HANNON PACED
her apartment later that night, her stomach growling. She hadn’t wanted food earlier, when they were at Bricco, but now that she was hungry she had nothing to eat. She checked the refrigerator just to make sure, but it yielded nothing more than a half-f bottle of white wine, some ancient, dried-out rice and a withered lemon.

She pitched the container of rice and checked the cabinets. Hmm. Unless she wanted to eat stale fortune cookies smeared with mint jelly, she was out of luck.

Finally, she turned to the freezer, where she found ice-burned veggies, a bottle of vodka and a lonely, mangled fish stick. She pulled it out and dangled it between thumb and forefinger. It had obviously fallen out of the box she’d once had in there, and onto hard times.

She felt a lot like it looked. She was walking with it to the trash when the phone rang.

“’Lo,” she said, sandwiching the receiver between her ear and shoulder in order to wash her hands.

“Hi, Shannon, it’s Hal.”

“My pal Hal! What’s up?”

“I obviously upset you earlier and though I’m still not sure why, I wanted to apologize. Can we talk? I could come there, if you’d like.”

She hesitated. Her apartment was a mess, and she had nothing to offer him besides vodka, straight up. But they did need to talk. “Okay. And I shouldn’t have yelled at you, when you were trying to be nice. I’m sorry. Have you eaten?”

“Why, are you cooking?”

She laughed. “Hell, no. Unless you want a lone frozen fish stick on a bed of used coffee grounds and a fortune cookie for dessert.”

“I think I’ll pass, thanks. Would you like to go out?”

She’d been thinking more along the lines of take-out, but she said, “Sure.” She gave him her address and made a reservation at Pazzo’s, an Italian place nearby.

Hal knocked on the door minutes later. He looked incredible: casually mussed hair, five-o’clock shadow, expensive shirt paired with dark slacks and Italian shoes. He even smelled wonderful.

“Look at you,” she said in admiring tones. “And what is that cologne? I don’t remember buying you any.”

“It’s from my sister, Peg,” he said sheepishly. “So the chicks will dig me, she said.”

Ugh. For some reason, Shan didn’t want to think about other chicks
digging
Hal. He was so sweet. Clueless maybe, but sweet—when you avoided the
topic of logic with him. “Well,” she said. “Don’t put it on your privates, because it’ll burn.”

He grinned. “Does that little piece of advice come from experience, Shannon?”

“No, I read it in Emily Post. Sit down—” she gestured toward the sofa “—while I grab my bag and a jacket. I’ll be right out.”

Hal sat carefully on her wild, modern sofa. It was red, shaped like a giant pair of lips. He placed his hands on his knees and looked around, taking in his surroundings. People who came to her apartment for the first time were generally taken aback. In the entryway was a big clock modeled after one of Dali’s “Wet Watches,” so that it looked as if it were melting.

On the wall behind the lip-shaped red sofa gleamed a giant mirror shaped like a stiletto. And over her mantel, next to a leopard-upholstered chair, hung a series of Warhol “Marilyn” prints. On the floor a white fuzzy rug—a fake bearskin—united the seating area, which surrounded a wide-screen, flat TV.

Hal blinked at her decor and honed in on the plasma television. He emitted a primate-like grunt of delight.

Shannon rolled her eyes when she heard it. And as her eyes rolled, they caught sight of a flash of white. Two flashes, in fact. And they had nothing to do with her rug.

She sucked in her breath with horror. “Hal!” she said sharply.

He jumped. “What!?”

She pointed with a shaking finger. “Get those white socks off your feet right now.”

“What’s wrong with my socks?”

“Everything!” She flew toward him and grabbed an ankle. “Never, never,
ever
wear white socks with anything but gym shoes. Especially not with dark pants and black shoes.”

He shook her off. “Hey! You can’t have those. My feet will get cold. There’s snow on the ground out there.”

“I don’t care. The socks come off now or I’ll have to resort to violence, do you hear?”

Hal stood up. “Bare ankles will look even stranger.”

“You’re under arrest by the Fashion Police.”

“Oh, yeah? You gonna slam me up against the wall and frisk me, Officer Shane? See if I’ve got any other illegals on me, like a pocket protector or taped glasses?”

“Put your hands up and step out of the socks, Hal.”

“No. I’ve had enough of being bossed around by you. Now do you want to go to dinner or not?”

Her stomach growled like a Harley. “Yes, but not with a man in dark shoes and white socks. It’s…it’s…
beyond
dorky, Hal!”

His mouth twisted. “I see. And a former prom princess like you just couldn’t be seen with a
dork.
You might lose face in front of your friends, after all.”

“Look, we are not in high school anymore. And it might surprise you to know that a prom princess
doesn’t have it easy, either. I got picked on as the dumb blonde every single day by the algebra teacher, okay? I got humiliated in front of the entire class just for his personal enjoyment.”

Hal seemed surprised. “But algebra’s so easy,” he said.

She counted to ten so she wouldn’t smack him. “Not for everybody, it isn’t. Now, I’m starving. Are we going to go or not?”

“How about a compromise? I take off one sock, but not the other. That way, we’re both a little happy.”

“You are a lunatic. That would look weirder than—” She threw up her hands. “You know what? I just don’t care. Do what you want, Hal. But you’re ruining your new image and all my hard work.”

He got up and opened the door for her. “How ’bout I take them off for you later?” He waggled his eyebrows and looked to the fuzzy white rug in front of the fireplace.

She swept past him. “That’s another thing we need to talk about, Hal. We’ve got to put the brakes on anything physical between us.”

H
AL SCOWLED
at Shannon over their shared platters of four-cheese manicotti and shrimp scampi with angel-hair pasta. She’d twisted her mass of blond, curly hair tightly back from her face, and tonight the style accentuated dark shadows that had appeared under her eyes. She wasn’t sleeping well—that was obvious. And he knew a way to help her with that….

“What do you mean, put the brakes on anything physical? Does that mean you’re done test-driving me? You’re moving on to someone more hip? Someone who won’t embarrass you in public by wearing white socks?”

“Hal.” She reached across the table and put her hand on his. Her green eyes held regret. “No, you’re taking this all wrong. I’m not moving on to anybody, okay? The fact is that we need to work together. Our more intimate relationship isn’t helping our professional situation.”

He pulled his hand from under hers.

She took a gulp of Chianti from her glass and seemed to brace herself before making her next comment. “And you need some practice dating other women. We need to get you out there in the swim of things. Have you go on a few trial runs. I’ll set you up with a wire in case you run into any snags, and I’ll be right there to guide you.”

She sounded like a mom about to put her kid on the school bus for the first time. It pissed him off. “A
wire?
You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No, I’m not. It will allow me to prompt you out of any awkwardness. And we’ll also have a recording of your date to go over the next day, so I can give you pointers.”

“Why do you have this kind of equipment, Shannon? Let me guess. You’re another Sydney Bristow, with the CIA?” His tone was mocking.

“Funny. No—it’s part of my coaching process.
The equipment is pretty standard and easy to come by. It’s not something I stole from the set of a Bond movie.”

Hal was hurt and didn’t bother to disguise it. “So you want me to go out with other women.”

“Hal, I like you very much. But it would be healthy for you to see other women.”

The big kiss-off. Well, he’d known it was coming, hadn’t he? Women like her didn’t date guys like him. She’d been slumming. “Oh, I’m all about health.”

“Hal, please don’t make this harder for me than it is, okay? Do you think I enjoy it?”

Oh, you do revel in your goddess power. You’ve used and abused the poor, malleable mortal. Now you’re finished with him. Time to move on.

“And quite frankly, I’m so mixed up right now that I can’t handle seeing anyone.”

The old, “it’s not you, it’s me” speech. How original. Why did I ever think there was anything more to you?
“So you’re back to the identity crisis, huh?”

“What do you mean, ‘back to it?’ I never left it. You asked me, Hal, why I got so angry with you? Well, it’s because you can’t just tell a woman that what she feels isn’t logical.”

“Shannon, I was only trying to help.”
And God knows why. You’re not worth the effort.

“I know that. And it’s why I’m sitting here with you. Men just have different ways of problem-solving, I guess. You process and compartmentalize the information and break it down into parts. Women
sit on the whole issue, like an egg, until they have a breakthrough.”

“Yeah. Whatever.” Hal wasn’t prepared to extend the evening much longer. He couldn’t look at her without feeling a confusing medley of emotions that included affection, sexual attraction, anger, hurt and disgust.

All he knew was that there was a connection between them that could be fostered, if she were willing. But because he didn’t meet her requirements in a man—and what were they?—she wasn’t willing to give them a chance. She wasn’t stupid in the least; she was just shallow. She either could not or would not function too far beneath the surface.

He threw his napkin on the table and stood up. “I’ll be right back,” he said, heading to the restrooms. He had to pass by the dessert counter on the way, where a petite dark-haired woman gave him a shy once-over.

He pretended not to notice, but then looked back and caught her staring. She blushed. Hal, flattered, gave her a smile. When he returned from the men’s room, she was still contemplating the tiramisu and cannoli in the case.

“It’s a tough decision, isn’t it?” he said to her.

She blushed to the shade of a raspberry and nodded. “Do you come here often?”

He cast a sidelong glance at Shannon, who was watching from their table. “All the time,” Hal lied. “I love Italian food. My, uh, sister is in town and I brought her here since it’s one of my favorites.”

“Well,” said the woman, “my name is Megan and I’m here a lot on Thursdays with the girls from work.”

“Great,” said Hal, nodding. He looked toward Shannon again. She shot him a meaningful stare and pantomimed writing something down. Did she want him to get the check?

“Um, so what’s your name, Megan?” Hal said, trying to figure out what his tormentor was trying to communicate.

“Megan,”
said Megan. “I just told you that.”

“Uh, right. Sorry.” He stuck his finger into his ear and wiggled it a little. “I, uh, I’m hard of hearing. In the left ear. But not the right.”

Megan looked at him strangely. “But you heard my name. You called me by it and then asked me what it was—all in the same sentence.”

“Um, yeah. See, I must have read your lips but not processed the information totally…that happens to me sometimes. I was dropped on my head as a child.” Hal wondered how on earth to continue this conversation—or how to get out of it. Things weren’t going very well. “But I’m okay now. Really.”

“That’s good.” The woman sidled away from him. She raised her eyebrows and flashed him a weak smile. “Well…I’d better figure out what to get for dessert.”

“I’m Hal,” he said, remembering that he’d forgotten to introduce himself.

“Great.” She backed up a couple of steps and stared fixedly at the dessert case.

A waiter behind the case asked, “Can I help one of you?”

Charm,
Hal remembered. He recalled the saleslady in the mall.
I’m supposed to smile and compliment. It gets good results.
He showed his teeth to Megan and the waiter, thrust his shoulders back and sucked in his stomach as Shannon had instructed. He put his elbow casually on the case and cocked a hip. “Well, I’d like—”

“Actually,” Megan interrupted, “I was here first.”

“—to have
her
for dessert. Can you arrange that?” He winked in what he thought of as a charming manner.

The waiter blinked.

Megan rounded on him. “You have a real nerve, you know? And you’re starting to give me the creeps. Get away from me!”

This was not the desired result. However, she was serious.

“Right,” said Hal, backing away and feeling his neck grow hot. “Maybe I’ll just have coffee.” Feeling like a giant, neon ass he made his way back to the table.
That went well.

He slid into the booth opposite Shannon.

“Why didn’t you get her number?” she asked.

“Is that what you were gesturing about?”

“Yes. It’s helpful, if you want to see someone again, to obtain their contact information.”

“Good point. She doesn’t want to see me again, though. Apparently I give her the creeps. I think I do
need to wear that wire you recommended.” And under Shannon’s pointed questioning, he related exactly what had happened.

“Hal, honey. You’ve got to be close to genius IQ. Think about what you’re saying before you say it.” Her lips quivered as if she were trying not to laugh at him.

“I can think until hell freezes over, but nothing sounds right. I get tongue-tied.”

“You’re not tongue-tied around me, Hal.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why that is. Maybe because you ripped my pants off within six hours of knowing me, so let’s just say there was no awkward courtship phase.”

“Conversation is easy, Hal.”

“Not for everyone, it isn’t.” It struck him that she’d said the same thing about algebra. “Small talk is my algebra,” he told her.

She’d been in the process of sipping her wine, but stopped with the glass at her lips, an arrested expression on her face. “Yeah?”